


Needs Must

by JustLyra



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, age kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLyra/pseuds/JustLyra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mitch wants the seat at Red Bull/STR. However to get a seat like that you need to do things. He wants Mark to teach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needs Must

Mitch

"Come in!"

Smoothing down his shirt, taking just a few seconds to calm his nerves, Mitch took a deep breath, "I **can** do this."

Opening the door he smiled his friendliest smile at Christian, who smiled back, "Mitch, well done for this afternoon."

"Thank you."

"I trust Mark prepared you well?"

Flushing bright red at the double meaning in Christian's words, and the smirk on the older man's face which could only be described as _dirty_ , Mitch nodded.

"Good. Now why don't you lock the door and have a seat."

*

"I need your help.... Mark _please_."

Sinking further into the sofa Mark tried not to look up. He tried not to see Mitch, hands on hips, shirt riding up slightly giving a tantalising glimpse of skin, bottom lip pouting and eyes pleading, _begging_ , "No."

"This is my chance. My _one_ chance."

Shaking his head, Mark was resolute, "No. You'll get more chances mate."

"Not like this," Dropping to his knees Mitch put his hands on Mark's legs, his big eyes wide and glassy, "Not with Red Bull. This could be.... this could be _everything_. Please!"

Revolted at himself for the image that flickered through his mind Mark, somehow, kept his voice firm, "No. Just no. Mate, you are better than this. You don't need to do this. **You** will get a drive without _this_."

"I won't," Standing up with a despairing sigh, "Fine. I'll ask someone else for help."

"You bloody will not," Catching Mitch's arm Mark stood up with fire in his eyes and even more in his belly, "You do not need this. I know this world better than you. This conversation is over and you are not having it with anyone else. Understand me?"

Shooting Mark a hostile look Mitch stomped upstairs, not furious to go to his own house, "Fine! Just screw up my career! Some fucking manager you are!"

Running his hands through his hair Mark felt overwhelmed _by_ Mitch, and for Mitch. He didn't think he'd face this again. It'd been almost 12 years since he'd had a similar conversation, brown eyes looking at him with fury when he voiced disapproval, and the heartbreak when his advice was ignored. Yeah, it seemed to work out alright to begin with and Christian is at least a bit more trustworthy than _Flavio_ , but a team boss is a team boss and in the end there had been bitter recriminations and a character stain that Fernando had never really shaken off.

Opening the fridge and grabbing a beer Mark threw himself back on the sofa, resentful at old memories being dragged up. Everything had changed and yet nothing had changed at all; same situation, different faces and it was still as shit as ever. At that time Fernando accused him of jealousy. Maybe he was right. This time though, this time it was more than that. This time it was _Mitch_ , although these days Mark wasn't entire sure what _that_ meant.

*

"....and what are your expectations?"

Startled by Christian's question Mitch tried desperately to focus, a task not made easy by the fact Christian had sat on the desk in front of Mitch whose chair suddenly seemed _very_ low. Coughing to clear his throat he looked up at Christian's face, "I expect a competitive car. Everyone to be working hard. I just.... I just want a fair chance. That's all."

"We can offer you that. If you are prepared to put in the hard work necessary."

Shifting in his chair Mitch didn't really know what to do. Mark said he'd _know_ when the interview was progressing to that point, but didn't really explain _how_ he'd know. He just said he would. Which just made Mitch wonder when, and _where_ , Mark learned that and that had distracted him endlessly. Looking up at Christian again he swallowed hard when Christian removed one cufflink and rolled up his sleeve.

*

Sitting at the table eating his breakfast Mark's ears had picked up Mitch moving about. Concentrating on the vitamin content of his cereal he tried to ignore the sound of the shower, more importantly tried to cut out the images his brain kept creating of Mitch _in_ the shower. By the time Mitch came down stairs, dressed in tight jeans and a tighter shirt, Mark was on his third bowl.

"Morning."

With a dark look Mitch barely acknowledged him as he took a cereal bar from the cupboard.

The scent of Mitch's aftershave, the one he wore when going to important places or on the pull, made Mark's nose twitch, "Going somewhere?"

"Out."

Curious Mark narrowed his eyes, "You are too dark to play the Kimi card mate. Out where?"

"Just out," Shifting awkwardly as he poured himself a coffee, nerves already building in his stomach at both the plans he had and the fact that he just couldn't ever lie to Mark effectively.

"You got a date?"

"No."

As the realisation hit him Mark threw down his spoon with a clatter, and couldn't keep the bitterness out of his tone, "Where are you going, Mitchell?"

"Out! God you're not my Dad!" Turning to Mark, planning to let rip with a tirade about how unfair Mark was being, about how he wouldn't have **had** to ask Sebastian for help if Mark had helped and about how Mark's pious attitude wasn't helping _anyone_ , but the moment he spotted the look on Mark's face his mouth clamped shut.

Cold, but furious at the same time Mark simply shrugged, "Never said I was mate."

"I'm going.... I.... I have.... Oh fucking hell. I'm going to see Seb. He said he'd help."

With a tiny, almost imperceptible, shake of his head Mark glared at him in a way that almost looked right _through_ him, "I bet he fucking did."

"Look Mark. _Mate_. I'm grateful for everything you've done, but this is my chance. I've got to take it."

"And you think Seb is going to help you?"

"He offered," Shrugging Mitch tried not to think about the things Seb had said, the things Seb wanted from Mitch in return for _helping_ him.

"Why would Seb help you take his drive from him?"

"Well, it's not his drive. It's going to be Torro Rosso first," Calmer, but still annoyed Mitch put the wrapper in the bin.

"And then Red Bull. So I ask you again, why would _Sebastian_ help you?"

"I.... I don't know...."

"Let's look at this another way. How is Antonio's career fairing these days?"

"Alright. He's..."

"Cut the bullshit Mitch. You know what I'm getting at."

"Antonio?" As if the air had been punched from his stomach Mitch was suddenly unsure about everything.

"Sebastian's help _really_ helped him...." Standing up Mark's face returned to being contorted with fury, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper which was worse than a yell, "If you are determined to sell yourself then at least make sure it's to people who _actually_ want you, want to help you"

Swallowing hard Mitch opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish as he watched Mark's back retreat down the hall and jumped as the bathroom door slammed shut.

*

Having worked out his frustrations in the shower Mark paused at the living room door. Mitch was on the sofa fast asleep, the standing joke between them for years that Mitch could sleep stood up if only he stopped talking long enough.

Resting his head on the doorframe Mark thought back to the first time he'd met Mitch. The over-enthusiastic Kiwi kid with big dreams, and talent to match. Mark had promised to help him, promised he'd do _everything_ he could to help him, but this wasn't what he envisioned. Then again he'd never envisioned Mitch's name being on the tip of his tongue as he stroked himself in the shower either. He couldn't do _that_. He couldn't take that from Mitch, not with Mitch trusting him so much, believing that it was helping when it was probably something else entirely.

"I can't do it mate. Not this. Not _for_ this."

Opening his eyes as Mark walked away Mitch didn't know what to think, his mind spinning with the possibilities. _Not for this_. Did that mean? Maybe for something else? If it meant that, if it did, then maybe the looks Mitch told himself he imagined, but wanked over anyway, **were** real. Maybe Mark listened to him get into bed through the wall the way Mitch did. Maybe Mark lay there imagining the noises were Mitch shedding his boxers and stroking himself like Mitch imagined Mark doing. Maybe Mark listened to Mitch pushing his fingers into himself wishing it **was** Mark, also wishing it was him, wishing it was **his** fingers that made Mitch bite his lip to stifle a cry.

Waiting on the sofa until Mark finished his tidying up, listening for the tell tale sound of the plate going into the washer and Mark picking up the leads to take the dogs out, Mitch took a deep breath and walked in.

Standing face-to-face with Mitch again Mark couldn't help the, hopefully, subtle look up and down his body, "Everything ok mate?"

"No," Resolute, but weakening every second Mitch coughed to clear his throat, "Red Bull are speaking to Daniel Abt. He has money. I don't. This....it....it's _all_ I have to offer. I know you think I'll get a good drive without this, but I don't. So I'm going to do this. I'm having the meeting with Christian. I want you to help me, to teach me what he likes and what he doesn't. I want you to do it because I trust you. I won't go to anyone else. If you won't, can't, help me then I'll just have to wing it. I am doing this Mark, I _have_ to do this."

Stunned into silence Mark watched Mitch walk away again and called the dogs, hopeful the long walk in the woods would offer some sort of answers.

*

"Christian hates overpowering smells."

Jumping at the voice, Mark having completely ignored him since he came back from walking the dogs for ninety minutes, Mitch nodded, "Ok. So no aftershave."

"Exactly. Go and shower it off."

"Ok," Feeling a kaleidoscope of butterflies in his stomach Mitch stood up, "Anything else?"

"He.... He likes them younger. Not too young, he's not..... But clean shaven."

"Ok. I should shave now?" Unsure and desperately not wanting to get it wrong Mitch paused.

"Yes. I'll help you. Just this once."

"Thank you," Beaming a genuine smile Mitch made to speak again.

Voice firm, even though he could hear it shake himself, Mark interrupted, "Just go shower Mitch. Spare room after."

Sitting on the arm of the chair as Mitch jogged up stairs and turned on the shower Mark put his head in his hands. He was sure there was a special kind of hell for people like him. Instead of protecting Mitch from the one thing he always vowed to he was going to _train_ him. Like some sort of special puppy. Like a.... Slapping his own face he stood up, he was going to help him. Once. Just this once. Just for Mitch. And he would hate every single moment of it. Every one.

*

Coughing from the doorway Mitch startled Mark. Turning to the 20-year-old Mark's voice stuck in his throat. If Mitch showed up for interviews with a white towel wrapped around his waist, highlighting the sunny tone of his skin, a few stray waterdrops from his hair rolling down his chest and chewing his lip with nerves there wouldn't be a team boss in the paddock that wouldn't devour him. Suddenly protective, not wanting some of the more _demanding_ ones to get their paws on Mitch, Mark coughed, "Have a seat."

Sitting on the chair Mark had brought from somewhere Mitch kept his eyes on Mark, searching for a hint that could make this something else, something _more_ , "So?"

"Ok. So the first bit will be all the questions we've talked about already. What you expect from the team, what they expect from you and what you can offer each other."

Batting his eyelashes Mitch tried to sound innocent, "Offer?"

"Yes. Offer. And yes, Christian will like that," Swallowing hard Mark tried not to hold his breath.

Chewing his lip Mitch looked at Mark with intense, inquisitive eyes, "How will I know? When it's time?"

"You just will," Feeling his palms sweat as one water droplet hit the barrier of fluffy towel on Mitch's hips Mark snapped his eyes back up, "I can't explain it, you'll just know."

Nodding, like a schoolboy soaking up information from his favourite teacher, Mitch smiled, "Ok. Will I.... Will I have to _kiss_ him?"

"No. Christian doesn't do kissing."

Smiling, pretending to be relieved when he was in fact disappointed not to get the chance to practise with Mark, Mitch sighed lightly, "What will he do then?"

"Christian likes to drag out a bit, build the anticipation. He'll get you to strip. He's not showy so don't make a big production of it."

Standing up Mitch threw the towel aside, taking Mark's breath away, "Like that?"

"Yes. Yes like that," Trying to keep his face calm Mark smiled softly, his voice awkward, "He'll want you to.... you know."

With a playful smile, pretending to buy into Mark's awkwardness when he had been itching to get on his knees since the moment Mark said yes, Mitch knelt down, shuffling his way between Mark's legs.

"He'll keep his clothes on mostly. It's a power thing," Looking everywhere, but at the fresh-faced Kiwi between his legs Mark squirmed when Mitch's hands rested on his thighs.

Biting his lip, the stark white teeth a contrast to the red lip, Mitch locked eyes with Mark again, "I've done it before, this, but just once. I... Is it ok if I?"

"Yes, ok, if you think you need the practise," Leaning back on his hands Mark tried to regulate his breathing as Mitch's shaky hands unzipped his jeans and his cool, clammy hand made contact with Mark's cock.

*

Looking at Mitch with a darker look in his eye Christian nodded at him. Just as Mark said he would Mitch knew. Standing up, just inches from the older man, he pulled his shirt over his head at the same time as toeing off his trainers. Putting his shirt on his chair, aware he wouldn't be sitting back down until it was over, he snapped open the buttons of his shorts and pulled them, and his boxers, to the floor. Bending to pick them up, and pull his socks off, he gave Christian a good glimpse of his body, of the muscles and sinew working as he moved.

"Very nice," Looking Mitch, looking slightly nervous and younger now he was completely naked and facing Christian, up and down Christian smiled. A simple glimpse to the floor was all it took to have Mitch on his knees. Christian's hands first rested on the desk, then in Mitch's hair as he took out Christian's cock and licked it up and down. Just as he had with Mark he sucked him into his mouth, wrapping his hot, wet mouth around the head and kept his cheeks hollowed as he pushed down.

Unlike Mark, who had let Mitch dictate the pace with a gentle, encouraging even, hand on his jaw Christian soon took over. Mitch had to concentrate as Christian's hands fisted in his hair held him still as the Englishman's hips rocked into Mitch's face. Gagging as Christian hit the back of his throat, not pulling out like Mark had, Mitch felt his eyes begin to sting with tears.

Unable to do anything, but balance himself on his hands and knees as Christian basically fucked his throat Mitch used the memories of Mark, of Mark's gentle strokes to his face, of Mark's kindly words, to keep his focus until the stream of hot come splashed over his cheeks as Christian let rip a tirade of bizarrely polite swearing.

*

Swallowing down Mark's load Mitch poked a tongue out, pretending to catch a stray drop, as Mark looked at him. Mark looked wrecked. His lips were bitten and chewed and his eyes were half closed as he tried to catch his breath. Lifting a hand to clean his face Mitch jumped slightly at Mark's "No!"

"He'll... he'll come. On you. On your face. He doesn't like you to wipe it."

"Ok, what next?" Hard, achingly hard, Mitch prayed Mark would say that Christian would fuck him, that he'd fuck him in practise, but he knew that would be too easy.

"Spank. He'll spank you. Then open you up."

Standing up, stretching out a little to give Mark a good eyeful, Mitch laid himself over Mark's lap, hoping and praying the lube he'd spotted on the bed would soon some into play.

"Ok," Unable to stop himself Mark ran a hand down Mitch's back, feeling the young man melt into his lap some more, his cock pressing into Mark's leg. Lifting his hand Mark felt his cock twitch again as his hand slapped down onto Mitch's ass.

*

Loving the sound of the young Kiwi fighting back a few tears Christian let his hand rest on the red cheeks. Using both hands, satisfied Mitch was still able to hold himself over his lap, Christian pulled his cheeks apart. Tapping his finger on the clenched hole he smirked, "Are you sure about this Mitch?"

"Yyyyyess."

Unsnapping the lube with one hand and letting it pour down Mitch's cleft he asked again, mainly to hear the broken voice that didn't know if it wanted to say yes or no, "Are you sure?"

"Yyyyy," Mitch's wail as Christian's finger followed the trail of the lube was glorious. Full of need and want and that glimmer of shame. Circling his finger round and round Christian could feel him will himself to relax.

*

"Relax," His voice as tense as Mitch's posture Mark used his free hand to stroke Mitch's back, "It's ok."

The soothing words combined with the relentless circling of Mark's finger meant it was tight and weird and stingy, but so good as Mark's finger pushed into him.

"He'll open you quicker. You should... The night before. So it's easier."

Lost to everything except for the sensation of Mark's finger pushing and pulling him Mitch merely grunted. Within a few minutes one finger had become two and had hit a spot that made Mitch thrash and moan.

"Ssh mate, it's ok," Keeping his finger rubbing on that spot Mark could feel Mitch's hardness on his leg and tried not to think about the effect Mitch's moans, his sweet, low moans, were having on him.

*

"I want you to come."

Christian had three fingers stuffed into Mitch, opening him quicker and rougher than Mark had, and was only hitting his prostate very occasionally. With a hint of amusement in his voice Christian spoke again, "I want you to think about the thing you want the most and come for me."

*

"Mark, Mark, Mark...."

Like a mantra Mark's name fell from Mitch's mouth. Steeling himself, trying not to fall any further, Mark hushed him, "Hold on, he'll want you to hold on."

"Can't... Mark..."

"Yes you can. You can do it," Thrusting his fingers harder Mark tried not to relish the sounds Mitch was making.

"Mark...."

"You can do it champ, just hang on. Stay strong. For me, you can do it I know you can."

Hanging on the edge, desperate to fall over and stay on the edge at the same time, Mitch's voice dissolved into a wail. He could do it for Christian, he knew that, but this was different. This was Mark. It was all Mark, around him and _in_ him and he couldn't. He just couldn't.

*

Feeling Mitch tense around him Christian deliberately aimed at his sweet spot, loving the sound of the solid, dependable young Kiwi fall apart around him.

As he clenched tight around Christian's fingers and shot his load on the floor Mitch slumped, grateful for the way Christian shuffled him off his lap and onto the desk.

*

Pacing the hallway Mark was frantic. He should never have allowed it. He should never have allowed _himself_. Mitch's win at Hockenheim had been all Mitch and people were noticing. Other teams had been in touch, teams that didn't involve _this_.

*

Stepping back, tucking his cock away, Christian patted Mitch's leg, "Get dressed Mitch."

Feeling sick, and with tears in his eyes, Mitch knew he'd failed and stammered, "What about?"

"It's ok."

Shaking his head Mitch put his hand out to Christian, "No. _Please_. I can do this. I can do anything."

"I know you can. You don't have too."

"I do. I want this seat. I want it more than _anything_. Please Christian, _please_."

Raising an eyebrow Christian questioned him, "More than anything?"

*

"Mark!"

Bundling through the door Mitch barrelled into Mark, arms wrapping around him as sobs fell from the younger man.

"Right. You were so right. I was wrong."

"Did he hurt you? Are you ok? Mitch?" Grabbing Mitch by the arms Mark held him at arms length, "Mitch!"

Shaking his head Mitch stammered, "Nnno. He didn't hurt me,"

"Was he.... gentle...?" Hating himself for asking, but knowing he had to Mark winced as he waited for the answer.

"He didn't... he didn't fuck me."

As relief washed over Mark he pulled Mitch under his chin, "It's ok mate. It's ok. There are lots of teams..."

"I got the seat. He just said...."

Watching Mitch curiously Mark raised an eyebrow, confused, "What?"

"He said that... that should be yours..." Suddenly bashful Mitch looked at the floor.

His voice soft, and broken, Mark practically breathed into Mitch's ear, "Mitch."

"I need this. I need you," Suddenly brave Mitch looked up to Mark, his wide brown eyes young and full of _want_ , "I want you."

A burst of something in his stomach Mark pushed Mitch against the wall, their mouths pressed together and their tongues battling for dominance, "Shower. Now."

 

 


End file.
